


Apical Meristem

by msraven



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Backstory, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-10
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-16 01:38:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msraven/pseuds/msraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's called putting down roots, Agent Barton."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apical Meristem

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gwynhefar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwynhefar/gifts), [NyteTyger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyteTyger/gifts).



> This started out as a coda to my other work [Comfort Food](http://archiveofourown.org/works/527359) and it turned into this.
> 
> I'm not connecting the two works in a series because I hope they stand alone by themselves. I think it depends on whether you need a fix-it ending or not.
> 
> According to Google, Apical Meristem is the group of constantly dividing cells at the root tip which makes them grow.

Clint had never had a home growing up. The house he'd been born into was never a home - not with his father's alcohol-fueled rages and his mother's tendency to look the other way. The orphanage was no better or worse and it's not like they'd stayed long enough to find out. The circus wasn't too bad - it was where he'd learned to cook - but the feeling of safety only existed when he'd been too high up for anyone to reach. Boot camp and the Army provided the stability he hadn't realized he'd been craving and yet there was always this feeling of impending doom that crawled just under his skin. Clint had felt almost relieved when he literally blew his way out of the armed services. Living the life of a mercenary meant having a real bed was a rare occurrence, let alone a real home to live in.

Then Agent Phil Coulson and SHIELD had stepped into his life. For the first time in decades, Clint had a constant place to sleep and a place to keep his belongings if he felt the need to buy things for himself (he didn't). Most other agents and specialists had apartments off-base, but Clint didn't feel it was necessary and nobody else noticed. He hadn't realized he'd been keeping a secret for over a year until it wasn’t a secret anymore.

It was one of those ops that had Clint questioning the SHIELD hiring practices for logistics. Who would honestly place seven of the ten field agents assigned to an op in a single safe house and not check if the house was still standing prior to the field agents arrival at ass o'clock in the morning? And of course the op was too important for something as trivial as proper living arrangements to call it off. So Clint and nine other agents suddenly found themselves in a small, four bedroom house with all but three agents confined to quarters for five days. 

Clint, who wasn't great with groups of people on the best of days, proceeded to claim a dark corner of the living room and attempted to meld in with the rest of the furniture. He pointedly ignored the concerned looks he was receiving from his handler. By day three, even Coulson was starting to look frayed around the edges and the concerned looks began to turn envious. The other agents, outside of Coulson and Sitwell, were wary enough of Barton's reputation to leave him alone. Coulson didn't have the luxury of slinking into a corner and, while he was actually allowed to go outside, the senior agent was too conscientious to actually use the privilege as a means to escape.

Coulson's rising tension added exponentially to Clint's - a reaction Clint chose not to examine too closely. He itched to sneak out onto the roof or to start throwing projectiles at his fellow agents who seemed to have forgotten Hawkeye was still in his corner of the living room. (He really didn't need to know that much about Gonzales' sex life, thank you very much.) But Clint usually tried to avoid disobeying direct orders from Coulson and taking potshots at the other agents would only increase Coulson's stress level. He only had one option left.

Clint sent Sitwell off with a list of groceries on the morning of the fourth day and wondered what the other agent had seen in Clint's eyes not to question the request. The rest of the agents, even more wary now that Clint had emerged from his corner, wisely avoided the kitchen for the rest of the afternoon. Coulson, being Coulson, had walked in while Clint was making dough, rolled up his sleeves, and offered to peel the carrots. The rest of the early evening passed with Coulson doing some of the prep, but mostly just keeping Clint company with easy conversation.

Clint was slipping the pans into the oven when Coulson asked how often he cooked, since he clearly enjoyed it. Clint responded that the bunks didn't really come with kitchens and he was rightfully intimidated by Helga, who ran the cafeteria at HQ. The expression on his handler's face had been almost laughable - a combination of shock, concern, and self-directed disappointment that he'd missed something critical about one of his assets. Clint had waved off his concern, saying he much preferred to de-stress on the range with his bow than in a kitchen with a spatula.

Clint should have know from Coulson's reaction that it wouldn't be the end of the discussion. He should have known from working with the agent that, once Phil Coulson latched onto an idea, he could be incredibly persistent and stubborn. (The idea for the Avengers was Coulson's after all.) But Clint was still at a complete loss as to why Coulson was leading him into a dingy little diner in the middle of Manhattan and pointing out the small apartment in the back. It wasn't until Coulson mentioned that his own apartment was less than three blocks away that he realized the diner/apartment was meant for Clint. He didn't understand Coulson's fixation on this and told him so.

"It's called putting down roots, Agent Barton."

Anyone else other than Clint would have missed it. Missed the slight tick in Coulson's jaw or the tension in his shoulders. Missed the overly bland way the comment was delivered. But Clint had spent nearly two years working side-by-side with his handler, often watching his back through a scope and looking for the most minute tells that an op was about to go pear shaped. This was very important, not just to Agent Coulson, but to Phil. Clint, who had already accepted that he'd do near anything Coulson ordered, found he had zero resistance when it came to Phil. 

Clint could see now how it must look. He'd been with SHIELD for almost two years, but could leave in an instant with nothing physically tying him down. Specialists, like himself and Natasha, were exempt from the embedded trackers all other SHIELD agents had implanted in their hips. Any signal, however small, was deemed too dangerous for covert and infiltration ops. There was nothing in his bunk at HQ that he couldn't easily leave behind - Clint wasn't nearly as attached to his various bows as everyone assumed. 

It had never been the physical things that kept Clint at SHIELD much longer than he'd anticipated. He'd spent most of his life without a stable roof over his head or access to the best equipment, so going back wouldn't be a hardship. What had surprised Clint was how the relationships he'd built - the strange symbiosis he shared with Natasha, the grudging respect with Fury, and the odd sense of humor he shared with Sitwell - had snarled him so tightly that leaving SHIELD was no longer an option. And all of these relationships paled in comparison with the connection he'd developed with his handler.

But maybe Coulson already knew all this without Clint saying a word. Likely knew it before the archer had become aware of it himself. Because the diner became as much about Phil as it was about Clint putting down roots. It was Phil who helped get the paperwork in place under one of Clint's useable aliases. Phil who helped Clint pick out new furniture, appliances, and clothes since walking around in SHIELD issued outfits was apparently too conspicuous. It was Phil who encouraged Clint to cook more and Phil who had jokingly flipped on the open sign at three in the morning after Clint had made enough borscht to feed a small army, drawing in their first customer. It was Phil, after a few months of subtle and not-so-subtle hints (the king bed in the apartment could only be described as decadent and Clint was perfectly capable of picking out his own jeans), who finally breached the gap and kissed Clint's lips gently to taste the marinara in lieu of the spoon he'd held out. 

Phil had made the diner a home and it was all Clint had left to cling to when Loki caused his entire world to crumble.

Clint had been amused and flattered at Tony's attempts to lure him into living at the reconstructed Tower. He didn't know how to explain to Stark that there was nothing he could build that would tempt Clint away from his dingy little diner and small apartment. He didn't know how to explain that he couldn't make himself sever his last tie to Phil Coulson. Natasha was the only Avenger who knew about Phil and Clint's relationship - the open wound still too raw for Clint to speak about. Clint declined every offer Stark made and the archer wondered how much more outrageous Tony's ideas could get before someone (likely Pepper) would put a stop to it. 

Clint was only mildly surprised when Stark decided to follow him one night. He could have evaded and lost the billionaire, but thought that maybe it was time to stop hiding the gaping hole in Clint's heart. He hoped that Phil's lingering presence in the diner could be felt by more than just Clint and that it would help Stark understand without any lingering, awkward conversation.

Food, as always, seemed to be the bridging factor. Stark, after two servings of Shepherd's Pie, was left relaxed and basking in the warmth of the home Phil helped create. Clint was pleased by how quickly Tony had connected the dots and appreciated how he didn't try to make Clint talk about it. 

Regardless of Nat's predictions, Clint had not expected Stark to come back to diner and he definitely couldn't have anticipated the other Avengers following. But maybe he wasn’t the only one who'd spent a lifetime searching for a home. Clint could only welcome them, knowing it's what Phil would have wanted. He slowly relaxed enough to share more of himself - telling stories of the circus and of Phil. 

One night, Clint was showing off his juggling skills with whatever Nat had on hand to throw at him - salt shaker, spatula, throwing knife, Steve's phone, and an onion - when the bell over the door jangled. He looked over, expecting to see Mavis and the boys. Clint instinctively caught the knife as Steve's phone hit Tony on the head and everything else went crashing to the floor.

"What's for dinner?" Coulson asked, wearing a tweed jacket over medical scrubs and shoes that looked several sizes too big. 

Clint stared hard at the man before him, looking for a definitive sign that this was real. But he knew deep down that Phil wasn't an apparition or a dream, that he wasn't a clone or an alien replacement or any other random possibility. He'd spent years learning and lovingly categorizing everything about Phil Coulson. This was the real Phil. Clint would recognize him anywhere.

The other Avengers came alert as Clint and Phil took several steps toward each other, but didn't move to stop them. It was a clear sign of their trust in Clint. Clint raised a shaking hand and laid it on the side of Phil's neck. Their foreheads came together just as a fleet of SHIELD vehicles pulled up, bearing Fury and a flock of agents that Clint didn't recognize.

"That's the second direct order you've disobeyed, Agent Coulson."

Clint stood between Phil and Fury, the knife still clutched in one hand. Phil only wrapped an arm around Clint's waist and let his forehead come to rest between Clint's shoulders, weary. No matter how much Clint wanted to retreat into the comfort of the apartment and hold Phil within the familiar confines of their bed, Clint knew he couldn't protect him here - not from Fury, not from SHIELD. Clint turned his head to meet Tony's eyes and placed all his trust in his team.

It was a blur after that. Clint doesn't know how the Avengers got Fury to back off or how they all got back to the Tower. What he knew was that his team would stand guard through the night and the foreseeable future. He had Phil back and alive in his arms. The unfamiliar bed in the unfamiliar room didn't matter. Clint was home.


End file.
